


our cure, to be no more

by bendingwind



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingwind/pseuds/bendingwind
Summary: “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitmarlowed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowed/gifts).



So, what is fear?

***

Has mankind not always feared that which was different, was _other_? Surely our ancestors learned to fear wisely to survive the predators that haunted their cave sanctuaries, those beasts which preyed upon them.

Caution is a trait bred true in us, but from the earth weeps the blood of Abel, crying out for his brother who killed him, and how do we know when to fear _ourselves?_

Those who trust too easily die too young. The fables are full of the tales that tell us so.

And is it not easier, then, to blame something outside of ourselves? A ghost story, of sorts, so that we can lay fault at the feet of something we can recognize as something that does not belong among us.

***

(“So you’re saying that when God created this world with math or, or whatever, he destroyed something that he had created before? Something that might be… angry?”

“The conjecture that whatever he destroyed might still exist and might be angry is entirely your own, Alex, but the rest is… not an uncommon interpretation of some traditions.”

“It’s creepy, though, right, to think of a demon or The Elemental or whatever watching us and hating us for what we have.”

“It’s all nonsense.” A roll of dark eyes. “Like any organized religion, it probably originated with someone trying to frighten the masses into a certain code of behavior, a certain show of devotion. Fear is power.”

“Is that Machiavelli or something?”

“I don’t… think so.”)

***

What slithers through the night, what lurks in the shadows?

***

Humans see too clearly and too well, or perhaps it is the opposite; perhaps our sight is too limited and too heavily depended upon. We fear the dark because we cannot see in it, because we cannot known what it conceals, and we have always been frightened of what we do not know. Perhaps it is for that reason that we venerate the omniscient. 

Perhaps that is why we place those who escape His gaze in the corners and alleys where shadows live and where evil deeds hide. Did we invent the demons that hide there, or did we learn to fear the dark because that is where they thrive?

***

(“Do you remember that weird drawing in Sebastian--Sebastian Torres--had in the back of his closet?”

“What about it?”

“Well… there’s one in my closet, now. I don’t know how it got there.”

A strange look, perhaps… concern? A pause.

“You said you’ve been talking in your sleep, and maybe sleepwalking according to Nick.”

“And you, what, you think I drew that in my sleep?”

“It’s not impossible.”

“... no, it’s not. That’s what frightens me.”

A heavy sigh.

“It’s not a common manifestation of sleepwalking, I’ll grant you that, but it happens. I think you should look into having that in-depth sleep study we talked about done.”

“What if… I want to, but what if… what if they don’t find _anything?_ Then what?”

Another pause, longer this time.

“I don’t know.”)

***

Who decides what is good, and what is evil?

***

Let us assume that we did invent the demons that hide in the shadows, that lurk at the edges of the world. Let us say that we have built traditions out of eradicating these beings, of casting them off--but how can we, if they come from us? How can we drive away that which belongs within us? 

Are they, then, children of our dark human minds, haunting us as only thoughts can?

***

(“Look, whatever you may think about all this, this stuff with _demons_ and the unsound and, and sacred geometry and whatever, I’ve been having these nightmares for _weeks_. Whatever else you can dismiss, the nightmares are _real._ ”

Strand sounds frustrated as he replies, “I’m not saying you’re not having nightmares, Alex, but I assure you that there’s nothing _demonic_ about them. It sounds to me like a classic case of Old Hag Syndrome, a phenomenon dating back hundreds of years and likely the earliest reported form of sleep paralysis.”

“Stop talking to me like I didn’t do my research! The ‘old hag’ in that was just a euphemism for the oppressive feeling of pressure and paralysis, like some malevolent force was in the room. _I actually saw an old woman!_ ”

“Alex…” the tone is placating now. “You haven’t been sleeping well or regularly, you’re taking strong sleeping medications…”

“Let’s just go.”)

***

If they are the creations of our minds, are we then their gateway into the world?

***

What happens when a mind breaks?

Is it something you feel, something you know has happened? Does it shatter like glass or crumble like old bones or bruise like an apple? 

Lines twist and connect and turn and bend, following numbers selected by earth or god or simple coincidence.

Flower and shells, peeling away.

When it breaks, does a mind open like a door?

***

(“A lot of bodies seem to crop up wherever you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”

“Why do they want you so much?”

“Who--Alex, what are you talking about?”

“These--they--whoever the fuck it is that _wants_ you! Whatever made someone out there decide you needed a, whatever, a _Watcher_ , whatever it is that has made these people so afraid--”

“Alex.”

“Don’t _Alex_ me, I’m tired of you treating me like I’m some, some sort of _crazy_ person! And you just, we just keep going out to meet them and talk to them like some sort of, of _bait_ , and why are we--why am _I_ doing this? They want you, the old woman said so, they just want me to get to you. That’s-- I’m _done_ , okay, I’m leaving.”

“What--”

A door slams in the background.

***

If such a door is opened, where would it lead?

***

Ideas are contagious things.

***

(“Hello, Alex.”

The quiet click of a phone. A rapping, as if against glass.

“Strand.”

“I was in town for a conference, thought I’d stop by and visit you while I was here. How are you doing?”

“You know how I’m doing,” the voice--flat. Lifeless.

A quiet chuckle.

“There’s no need to be that way, Alex. Nic says your doctor thinks you may be making progress.”

“I’m always making progress. Funny how that changes whenever you stop by.”

A sigh.

“You know it isn’t fair to blame this on me, Alex. I had no way of--if I had known how far you would take all of this, the tapes and the absurd mythological constructions, I would never have continued our exchange. You know none of it was real just because it hasn’t yet been disproven by science.”

A quiet, angry hiss, followed by another sigh and another tap against the glass. Very gentle, this time.

“I see that this isn’t helping, so I’ll take my leave. Goodbye, Alex.”)

***

(She sees his eyes flash a familiar, unearthly black as he stands, but who’s to say what’s real any longer, and what isn’t?)

***

Mind are complex, fragile, fluid. Minds are a conduit, for the intangible, the ethereal, and the concrete.

Minds are doors, leading from one into the other into the other.

Might something walk those paths, and reach out to touch the corporeal?


End file.
